


Coming Home

by rebeccaann08 (halesmoon)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bullying, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halesmoon/pseuds/rebeccaann08
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Look, it…” God, he hated talking about this, “it hasn’t been that long since Laura died, and people see me hanging around with teenagers, with Isaac, and with Erica and Boyd. Before. And rumors start, and then two of those teenagers go missing and all these people start getting sacrificed, and people think it’s me doing everything. Again.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xfortytwo](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=xfortytwo).



> I’m a little nervous about this. I haven’t written in a while, and I worked hard so I hope you like this giftee. Also, I’ve never been to NYC and have no idea what it’s like at Christmastime. I just Wiki-d a list of NYC parks and picked a name that sounds good. I apologize to any NYC natives who know the area much better than myself.
> 
> Also, thank you so much to my beta jsea who caught a bajillion logistical errors and made this fic so much better. You are my hero bb. :)

“Sorry, we’re closed.”

Derek stared at the clerk. “It’s three in the afternoon. You’re a grocery store. You literally just let someone else come in,” he said.

The clerk raised his eyebrows and cross his arms. Derek wanted to punch him in his stupid acne infested face. “Too bad. We don’t serve _felons_.”

Derek stared because seriously? He’d been exonerated. _Publicly_

And his name had been cleared. He hadn’t killed Laura. He hadn’t killed that janitor. He wasn’t responsible for any of the ritual killings. All charges had been dropped.

Not that it mattered, because once you were accused of murder twice (by the sheriff’s son, no less), it was a hard reputation to shake. And it certainly didn’t help that the FBI had dropped in and started asking questions about him and his relationship with a bunch of high schoolers. With a bunch of _children_ , they’d said.

Derek gritted his teeth. “Fine.”

The grocery store on the far side of town didn’t ban him from entering, and he pretended not to see the dirty looks the other customers shot his way.

*

It had been more than a year. More than a year since he came back to Beacon Hills, left Beacon Hills, and subsequently returned again. Stiles had called him because Scott had worked himself up into a panic when he had finally realized he didn’t know what it meant to be a full-fledged alpha of a pack.

So here he was, back without Cora, who had laughed in his face when he asked her to come with him.

*

Derek frowned. His order was wrong. Again. Because there was still onions on it. In fact, he was pretty sure the guy had just taken his burger into the back and brought it right back out.

“Is there something wrong with it this time?” The girl look at him, eyebrows raised, as if daring him to protest.

“Look, can I just get a refund?” he said, holding the burger out to her.

“Sorry, no refunds. We can remake it though.” She smirked at him. He hated people smirking at him.

He shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”

When he got to his car, he opened the wrapper and started picking off the onions, flicking them onto the ground in spite. When he finished, he took a bite and grimaced. He could still taste the onions.

He wrapped the burger up and tossed it onto the passenger seat in disgust.

Across the street, a crowd of middle-aged women stood huddled together, staring in his direction disapprovingly. He could hear their words.

_He preys on children, I heard._

_He’s wanted by the FBI. They think he’s the one doing all the killings around here._

_No one wants his kind around here. Everyone’s in danger with him in town._

Derek snarled and pulled out of the lot. Screw Scott, he thought. Screw everyone, and let them do everything on their own.

He drove down the highway and was at the city limits when he felt he could breathe again. He pulled over and turned the ignition off, resting his head on the steering wheel as he collected his thoughts. Stiles’s voice was in his mind, pleading with him to come back, if only for a bit, and Derek remembered how Stiles was the only one who ever seemed to care about him.

He’d stay for Stiles. He’d stay just long enough to help Scott, and then he’d leave.

He pulled back onto the road, turned the car around, and headed back to Beacon Hills.

*

It was rarely outright hostility. People were still scared of him, and most of them had the good sense not to provoke someone they thought was a murderer.

Mostly, it was little things that alone, couldn’t hurt him, but it never stopped at just one hateful action or one harsh word. It was so many thrown at him at once, and beating at him, verbal punches and kicks, until he was just a mental pile of bruises and tears, worn down to his barest bones.

When people saw him walking down the street, they crossed to the other side.

Store employees pretended they didn’t see him and walked away when he approached.

The girl at Starbucks always threw his change on the counter to avoid touching his hand. He’d started paying by card, but she threw that too. It usually landed at his feet.

People vandalized the burnt out remains of his old house. He found scrawled hate messages on the wall. Some were immature teenage insults – _ur gay_ , _for a good time call xxx-xxxx_ , and the like – but some dug down and twisted their barbs in him deep enough that they were a constant presence in his mind he couldn’t rid himself of. 

_You should have died too._

_You’re next._

They defiled his home. He found used condoms in the living room, right where his family used to sit every Christmas while the smallest of them handed out all the presents. Someone shat in his little brother’s room. 

But the worst, the absolute _worst_ , was the gossip. 

The way people talked about him and the things they said, about both him and his family. I stripped him to his core, because when people didn’t think you could hear them, they didn’t hesitate to throw the punches.

“That family was always weird. Good riddance!”

“I always see him hanging around the children. I think he’s trying to start a cult.”

“Everything bad in this town started when he showed up. If only he would leave again.”

Derek hunched his shoulders and remembered that he was here for Stiles, to teach Scott, and soon enough he’d be able to leave it all behind. There was no point picking a fight with people who didn’t matter.

*

There’s a farmer’s market Derek likes. The produce is fresh and it doesn’t have all the chemicals in it that commercially grown produce has.

Derek picked up another apple, rolling it over and checking for bruises. Most of the apples in the box he was shown had bruises. He sighed and put the apple back, search unsuccessfully for a good one. He might have to suffer the pesticides regardless. 

He didn’t hear the footsteps until they were right behind him.

“Derek?”

He jumped, turning to see Stiles standing there, holding a cloth tote with some ears of corn sticking over the edge.

An awkward silence passed, and Derek finally spoke. “Did you need something?”

Stiles jaw snapped shut. “Uh, yeah, this is just…weird.”

He didn’t continue, and Derek shifted where he stood. He wasn’t used to a silent Stiles. He wasn’t used to having to lead the conversation. He sighed and prompted, “What’s weird, Stiles?”

“Um, you’re shopping. For like, real food.”

“Yes,” Derek said, rolling his eyes, “I am. It’s something to snack on between bites of raw deer and innocent hikers.” He puts the apple down and picks up another one for inspection.

Stiles snorted and nodded towards the apple in his hand. “The guy sells honeycrisps. I’d try those.”

Derek swallowed. He’d already asked if there were any honeycrisps. The farmer had shook his head and pointed to the small box of apples Derek was sifting through. “That’s all that’s left,” he’d said. Derek could hear the lie, but he hadn’t pushed the issue.

“These are fine,” he said. Stiles blinked and moved closer. He peered into the box.

“Dude, those are like…not good. He has way better ones over there.” Stiles pointed to the other side of the stall. 

Derek saw the farmer take notice and narrow his eyes. He didn’t move though, and Derek thought maybe he could get through this encounter without Stiles figuring everything out.

He really should have known better. 

He shook his head and didn’t meet Stiles’s eyes. “It’s fine.”

Stiles stared at him – and Derek hated that he knew Stiles was smart – and watches as his eyes flicked between Derek and the farmer. Finally, he turned and gestured towards the man. “Can I have a box of honeycrisps?”

Derek sighed.

The farmer obliged. “For the young Mr. Stilinski.”

“Actually, they’re for Derek here. He didn’t know you had them and I said they’re the best apples you can get.”

The man looked nervously at Derek, but didn’t move to push the apples closer. Stiles did it for him.

When Derek hesitated, Stiles started picking out apples, eventually setting ten off to the side and pushing the crate back towards the farmer. “He’ll take these.”

The farmer nodded and begrudgingly took Derek’s money when he handed it over. Derek bagged his food and turned to leave, Stiles at his heels.

“Okay, seriously, what just happened there?” Stiles asked.

Derek shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit.” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest. “What was that?”

Derek didn’t care enough to argue. He ignored Stiles hovering behind him while he loaded up his groceries and when Stiles grabbed his sleeve to get his attention, Derek shrugged it off. 

“I don’t have a great reputation around here.”

Stiles frowned. “But you didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah, well, when the sheriff’s kid accuses you of murder twice and the FBI starts asking questions about you, people start talking.”

And maybe it was a low blow, but Derek couldn’t find it in himself to feel guilty at Stiles’s flinch. He knew the accusations made sense. He was the logical suspect the first time and they’d thought he was dead the second, but he wished more than anything that Stiles had just kept his mouth shut. Or that he’d stayed away from Beacon Hills.

He stilled when he felt Stiles’s hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t often he was touched with no intent to hurt him, and his gut reaction was to flinch away. But it was Stiles, who might have been the only person he knew to have never caused him intentional harm. So Derek turned to face him.

“Look, it…” God, he hated talking about this, “it hasn’t been that long since Laura died, and people see me hanging around with teenagers, with Isaac, and with Erica and Boyd. Before. And rumors start, and then two of those teenagers go missing and all these people start getting sacrificed, and people think it’s me doing everything. Again.”

He swallowed and looked down at his shoes.

Stiles stared at him. “And it always like this?” He gestured at the farmer behind them.

Derek shook his head. “No. I mean, sometimes, yeah. But mostly it’s people avoiding me or talking about me when they think I can’t hear.”

Stiles frowned. “It’s not right, though. I mean, I know we had our differences, but–”

“I know,” Derek said, interrupting him, “but it’s a small town and that’s how things are.”

Stiles watched him intently as he got in his car and backed out of the parking spot. 

He’d been back at his rented motel room for about ten minutes when he got a text. 

_So why do you stay then?_

Derek stared at the message. It took him about half and hour to think of an answer, during which he unpacked his groceries. It was an astonishingly short answer.

_You asked for help._

He shut off his phone and picked up his copy of _Miss Wyoming_ , and he spent the rest of the day reading about remaking oneself.

*

He should have known Stiles had a plan. Stiles always had a plan.

Stiles called him a week after what he’d come to think of as the “Apple Debacle.”

There was a fair in town. It had a small rollercoaster, an old Ferris Wheel you couldn’t have paid Derek to get onto, a Tilt-a-Whirl that smelled distinctly of vomit, and far too many games with crappy prizes. Derek was avoiding the entire thing.

“The pack is going to the fair. Meet us at noon.”

It was Stiles, because of course it was.

“No. Hell no.”

“Derek. It’s a pack thing.”

“So why are you inviting me then?”

“Because you’re pack?” Derek made a noise in the back of his throat. “Look, if you don’t want to be pack, you can be my plus one. Your choice.”

Derek groaned. “Fine, but I’m not going on any rides.”

“Fine,” Stiles echoed him. “But you’re going to win me a gazillion of the biggest stuffed animals. Like, for real dude, I want them to fill my entire room.”

Derek couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “We’ll see.”

“Meet you there, big guy.” Derek could hear the grin in Stiles’s voice. It made him feel warm.

*

The fair was an ordinary fair. There were too many people, the rides were the same rides as everywhere else, and the games were rigged.

Derek still won every game he played, and he diligently handed over each stuffed animal to Stiles.

Stiles preened. Scott rolled his eyes but grinned anyways. Lydia and Allison both looked jealous.

“Let’s get food!” Stiles finally said after a couple of hours of cheering Derek on at game after game. Scott looked relieved. Allison looked morose as she picked her one small stuffed animal that Scott had won for her. Lydia was already half way to the food court.

Stiles led them the rest of them to a table, where Allison quickly set down her stuffed unicorn and left to join Lydia. “Derek,” he said, “guard my prizes. I’ll get us some food.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Your prizes? I recall I was the one winning them.”

“Yes,” Stiles said, “but then you gave them to me, so now they’re my prizes.”

Derek shook his head but stacked the prizes on the table (and one spectacularly large purple wolf on a chair) while Stiles left to get food. He forced himself to avoid what people were saying, him being out with the sheriff’s son like nothing had happened. His night had been good so far, and he wanted to keep it that way.

A paper plate full of cheese balls appeared in front of him a few minutes later. 

“Eat up,” Stiles said, cheerfully digging into his own curly fries.

Derek crinkled his nose. “It smells like grease.”

“That’s because they’re cheese balls. They _are_ grease, like, by definition.”

Derek looked at him. He didn’t eat the cheese balls.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “It's fried cheese, Derek. Who doesn't like fried cheese? Creeps, that's who. Eat.”

Derek rolled his eyes back. “Fine,” he said before popping one into his mouth. He chewed, pleasantly surprised. “They’re good.”

“Stiles knows best.”

“Stiles is talking about himself in the third person,” Derek said, deadpan.

“You two are precious,” Lydia interrupted them, before taking a bite of funnel cake. Allison nodded, while Scott pretended to gag.

Derek just looked at them all, confused.

Lydia shook her head. “Ugh. Boys.”

“Boys,” Allison agreed.

Silence reigned over the table while everyone happily at their food, when Stiles stood up suddenly. “I’ve got to pee.”

No one paid Stiles much mind as he walked in the direction of the port-o-potties. Derek kept eating his cheese balls, Scott watched Allison talk to Lydia about their upcoming classes. When Lydia mentioned she was thinking of staying in New York City with some relatives over Christmas break, Derek off-handedly remarked that the lights in East River Park were worth paying a visit to. Lydia and Allison shared a glance with each other before they both turned to him, asking him questions about the city, what it was like and who’d he met when was there. Lydia asked him about specific places and if he’d been there, while Allison was curious about the historical sites and the various parks. Derek was surprised by their sudden attention, but tried to answer as best he could.

There was music playing over the speakers, some old country tune Derek recognized but couldn’t place the name of. It was meant to be background music, and Derek hadn’t even really noticed it. Not until it shut off and, after a few moments of silence, Stiles’s voice took its place.

“Evening, ladies and gents. This is Stiles Stilinski. I’m the sheriff’s son, which should be obvious, but I’ve recently come to understand our friendly little town isn’t quite as intelligent as I previously thought.”

“What is he doing?” Lydia asked, slowly. Allison and Scott wore mirror expressions of confusion, brows scrunched and mouths open.

Derek’s stomach dropped. 

“So, here’s the deal. I’m going to lay down the facts for you once and for all. One of my friends and I did a really stupid thing about a year ago. We thought we knew stuff, but we didn’t, and we accused Derek Hale of murdering his sister. That was our mistake, not his.”

Derek studied the table furiously, but he could still see people turning to stare at him. 

Stiles continued. “Likewise, he did not attack us in the school that night. And if you weren’t paying attention, he was exonerated of all crimes. For those of you who _don’t_ know what that word means, it means he’s innocent. All of this is public record if any of you had bothered to look into it before you started bullying him.”

Derek buried his face in his hands and felt heat creep down the back of his neck.

“But this isn’t public record, so listen up. Not only is Derek innocent, but he is a _good_ man. Probably one of the best, most selfless people I know. He’s made mistakes – we all have – but he cares, and he puts everyone else before himself. He’s the one who’d lay is own life out on the line to make sure someone else has a chance. And I mean this literally, because although it was never made public, Derek did save my life. After everything bad I said about him, he put himself between me and someone who was trying to hurt me. To _kill_ me.”

Derek wondered which instance he was talking about. The night at the pool with the kanima, or the one at the police station? When Isaac tried to attack him after being newly turned? God, the Darach?

“So I’d like you all to just think about that. Think about what you’re doing to someone who has never hurt you and who you know nothing about. You’re punishing him for something stupid that I did, even though his name was cleared, and it’s not right. And tell this to your friends and your family and your neighbors. Spread the word. This town is nothing but a bunch of bullies and someone needs to stand up to you.”

The speakers cut out and the music returned.

“Dude,” Scott breathed. Allison and Lydia stared at him.

Derek’s face and ears felt hot, and his stomach felt funny. He pushed his cheese balls towards the others. “I think I need to go home now.”

No one tried to stop him as he stood up and started walking toward the exit. The crowds parted easily, and Derek ignored the whispering. He didn’t want to know what they were saying.

*

Stiles showed up at his motel room two days later. Derek thought about ignoring the knocking at his door, but Stiles was nothing if not stubborn and Derek decided it was best to face him. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. Get it over all at once.

He opened the door. “Stiles,” he greeted.

Stiles didn’t reply. Instead, he walked in and turned to look at Derek.

“Before you say anything,” Stiles said, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I mean, I’m not really sorry that I did it, but I probably should have at least, I don’t know, asked your permission.”

Derek considered. “It would have been nice,” he agreed, “but I would have said no.”

“Then I should have told you so you could have been prepared.”

“That would have been nice too.”

The corners of Stiles’s lips quirked up into a small smile.

And the thing is, Derek should have been mad. The incident at the fair had been, if nothing else, embarrassing. 

But Stiles had stood up for him. Called him a good person, a _great_ person, and Stiles didn’t say that about many people. Stiles didn’t care about many people. And Derek couldn’t remember the last time anyone had stood up for him or said good things about him.

Derek’s heart fluttered, and he was glad Stiles couldn’t hear it. 

“I went to Joe’s Burger Shop yesterday. They didn’t put onions of my burger,” Derek said.

Stiles looked up at him. “Um, that’s good? Right? Or do you like, really love onions or something? Because Derek, I think we might be having two different conversations right now.”

“They always put onions on, even when I ask for it without. And whenever I’ve tried to get them to remake it, it always comes back with more onions.”

Stiles blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah. There’s a girl who normally works the counter. She’s always rude, but she smiled at me. A friendly smile, not a smirk or anything,” he said. “It was good.”

Stiles smiled and moved closer. “Yeah?”

Derek nodded. “I’m not saying people aren’t still jerks, but…it’s better.”

Stiles reached out and placed a hand on Derek’s wrist, fingertips just brushing his pulse point. “I’m happy, because I wasn’t lying. Everything I said? Absolute truth. And if you don’t believe me, I’ll say it again so you can listen to my heartbeat.”

Derek turned his arm so he could grasp Stiles’s hand in his own. He squeezed lightly. “Thank you.”

Stiles answered with a grin and squeezed back, and Derek thought, for the first time, maybe there was something good in Beacon Hills after all.


End file.
